it's all upside-downconfusion scours me;
the vertigo smacks and beats me like
a whip-master holding two curtain rods,
i can't breathe think or feel.
darkness swoops in
like the night-tipped shadow of a bird,
lounging over your head
dampening your hair.
sorrow sweeps across your skin
with the added pain of talons
digging in your shoulders.
through shallow blood;
built of deep holes
and black thoughts.
a trill of music, a distant caw
rebound and echo
throughout the storm you've wrought.
a hollow rain weights your spine
and sharp lightning
intertwines muscle and mind.
but these things,
they are so bitterly cold--
that each warmth bites your delicate skin
sending you spiraling backwards
into the comforting shadows of old;
you can't enjoy the fire of love
(or even of hate)
because you're here too much,
you're present too much,
which only drops you down,
and then again you begin
with a shadowy bird on your head--
your mind a storm,
a chill crawling through your skin
as you hide in your shado
a ghost of winteran owl's call;
sweetling hidden in white arms of tree,
embraced forever in sunset,
lost in morning,
sung to at night,
to haunt us
and remind us;
even those we do not see
and full of need.
the owl's call;
loving feathers brush the air
and wait, without despair
for star-lit evening, to depart,
cloaked in night with eyes agleam,
silvery beaked and ready to hunt
for haunting us
and reminding us
that although fear and hate are loud, if we listen
we can hear a whisper of hope.
cheatedwith heart-torn capillaries
this world imprisoned a girl in its luminous sheets,
trapped her in its milky, moon-shine
and held her, and lulled her;
broken innocence unto sleep.
she started off dark--
like every poet should,
and yet, as her light eyes
scorched the sun,
the universe grew jealous;
her natural scent of flower and rum
caused stars to flee the galaxies,
swim out of the spacial current,
and nest in her timid smile.
metaphors lurked above,
she grasped them with tiny hands,
no longer copper and kissed with sun
but pale and scared and soft.
for space's jealousy was strong,
sapping the nature of her,
and would not be defeated by words,
so the universe snatched her, and took her,
whisked her away into a place of darkness
where there was no sound,
and silence clouded the non-air.
she wasn't to breathe.
and thus this world eventually reclaimed her,
sucking her back firmly into that dark place,
her words mystified and forgotten,
tiny grasp, weakened yet strong
society, open your eyes againthe rusted machinery of your dusty heart
twists the air with it's little gasps--
trying vainly to beat even though warmth isn't translated
through metal and inhumanity.
waves of sorrow crash
silently in your brown eyes
and in it, instantly, again, it's gone
in the sunlight--
because the orange-yellow tint
reveals to you an open hand
filled with acceptance and hope.
the real magic in the world
is that we can call it "the world";
the fact we can see turquoise oceans slither
right over our skin, and lose ourselves
in the beauty we're drowning in.
in the quiet of the morningdarkness creeps softly
upon my fingertips,
swallowing the room
and shadowing my eyes;
the makeup of time.
a coating of the tone "gentle embrace"--
as do you,
coaxing moral demise:
heat-spiked ribbons of lust
curl and roll down my spine,
warm misted fire swings, dances
and in the evening we come a-twine.
twin travelers taking twilight,
using the black-blanketed stars we borrow,
and as i lose you to the night once more,
i know i'll find you again...
a rueful repertoireclawed, insect words
crawl their way along the page,
rifting through the waves of white,
freeing buoys of emotion to fall adrift
though they become chained again at dawn.
sunsetlit, eyes afire in an ocean
of passion, i await for avarice to die;
each crime a tiny tongue of water to lap
at vicious burning valiant hope, and weaken it--
bring tsunamis to our shores
and help drown the poisoned souls.
birthed in soft night,
i long for hatred to wriggle out of your pale pores,
each sparkle on moonsoaked salty skin a star of innocence,
a gentle heat, a steaming mist, a galaxy full of
potential; i grasp at the surface of the sea
and the ocean reclaims me.
paranoialike a blink and snap
it all falls apart--
the far-away streetlights bloom in the night
and mist rolls in on soft, silent toes.
aghast, darkly encircled eyes fill your vision with
an eerie green fire, speaking of untold trauma occurring
only in the inky depths of midnight.
you think, distinctly,
but a howl hurricanes through the shadowed navy,
and cold glass palms itself against your fingers,
pondering, wandering thoughts permeate through psychic corridors,
perhaps, they are animal, or worse maybe your imagination whispers
nonexistent and surreal.
you're not alone.
art-worldget out of my art-world--
for you are full of hatred and misanthropy
and you don't belong here.
in this galaxy full of color and light,
of all-unconditional, and love, and acceptance.
of anything-goes, and contradictive, conceptual
black-white-gray beauty; imperfection
of the perfect kind, in the purest creative form,
deviated of only life itself.
but saying you don't belong here
goes against the unwritten law-moral-anarchist code
of all the art-world ideas. i discriminate
because i am afraid.
i am afraid you will ruin my art-world.
just like you've blackly tainted every canvas you've glanced at;
just as you have shadowedly scorned each snapshot
and snickered at skits,
taken the light from where you were supposed to see
the dark mystery...
of the art-world.
when liquid fire is spat,
fountained forth in a froth
of passionate word-play and scripture and story,
you eat it and chew it and bite it and kill it with your
ego-tongue, your promiscuous robot mind.
lawyer-blistered hands take the
five ways of looking at winteri.
you sneak upon thy bodies,
swipe divine honey breath;
until thee are barely breathing
and thine cold heart, near death.
darkness is often sewn in light;
and in light, darkness willingly grows,
for in darkness, light is reaped;
and in night, often white is sowed.
when i speak, it's not just me
it's a thousand others who have spoken and heard,
who have listlessly breathed and broken the world;
you are me and i am we.
my feet are traversed
with the brown of the earth
each summer, always;
while the winter softens them with flakes of white.
with the first northern Virginian snow that's stuck and shed--
my eyes close, my blood is bled.
new hope is brought in the small angel flakes;
they glow and glimmer in their white naked beauty,
virgins to the world, taking a new journey.